


Will You Dance?

by stilitana



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Cybernetics, Dubious Morality, Friendship/Love, Hero Worship, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Quid Pro Quo Harassment, Self-Worth Issues, Surgery, workplace drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 18:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18429575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilitana/pseuds/stilitana
Summary: This is a fic exploring Rhys' time working for Hyperion up to the start of Tales from the Borderlands, fleshing out some of the sparse details we were given about the eridium mining deal, the cybernetics, and what living on a place like Helios will do to a guy's psyche.(“I thought you were trying to help me. This isn’t helpful, it’s just – you’re a pessimist.”“Uh-huh. And you’re the sucker who took those power of positive thinking workshops to heart.”)





	Will You Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to write this for a really long time...it's likely going to have two more parts but don't worry this can be read stand alone while I finish them.
> 
> As always, you may find me on tumblr at: stilitana
> 
> Thank you for reading!

            A body floated by outside the bay windows in a slow, stately arc. Vaughn swallowed his mouthful of sandwich and said, “That’s not your floor manager, is it?”

            “It is. Oh, man,” said Rhys, watching the body fall through space with mingled horror and wonder. “I’ve never – I mean, I’ve heard it happens, you see the empty desks, but. That’s a dead body, Vaughn.”

            “At least it’s, er. Quick?”

            They both looked anywhere but at each other. During their first year at Hyperion, they were still as close as they’d been when they planned their rise to fame and glory in college, but they didn’t talk so openly or grandly anymore. It just wasn’t quite what they’d thought it would be, but if they didn’t say it, maybe the bad parts would just go away.

            They heard Yvette’s brisk footfalls, the curt tapping of her heels, before they saw her. She sat beside Rhys and said, “I hear there’s an opening in the data-mining department. Correction. I see there is one,” she said, glancing out the window. “Sheesh. You two and your timing – you chose a hell of a time to get hired. Termination’s up forty-six percent in the last three quarters.”

            “We knew what we were getting into,” Rhys said, avoiding Vaughn’s gaze.

            “What’s the deal, Yvette? You mean it wasn’t always like…this?” Vaughn asked.

            “You guys weren’t here long enough with Jack to know how different it is. What you’re watching is the fallout of a cult of personality, boys. All we can do is kick back and let the fires burn out. Jacks’ left behind a power vacuum and an entire station of the people least fit to fill it. They’re all either sycophants who’ve undergone years of battering and brainwashing so that they can’t think for themselves, or they’re power-hungry sociopaths who don’t give a shit about leadership aside from how good it’ll look on them. I think if Jack had really died, we’d be better off. Eventually people would move on, get a new office culture. Instead it’s even worse now, you can’t get rid of the guy, they’re immortalizing him.”

            “Jack _made_ Hyperion,” said Rhys, taken aback by her bitterness.

            “Oh, he made it what it is all right. And now we all get to live in it.” Yvette looked around, and then leaned in and lowered her voice. “Listen. I’ve been here long enough to know how to keep my head down. I’ve built in safety nets over time, I’m secure. It’s all the fresh meat that’s in trouble – that’s you two. If only Jack had died a little sooner or you’d gotten the jobs a little later – well, it wouldn’t have helped, nobody would’ve warned you. But now you’re stuck in a burning house, and there’s not really an easy way out once you’re here. Quitters get blacklisted. If they leave at all. I know you’ve got your big promotion dreams and all, and that’s cute, but you really need to play your cards carefully right now, lie low until things stabilize. If they do. You especially, Rhys. Coding has high turnover rates. The quotas are crazy over there. You’re on the lowest rung right now which means you do the dirty work – but it also means the heat’s not on you as bad. Stay there, ok? There’s blood in the water. Do not try to get this promotion right now. I’m telling you, you won’t be able to keep up. They don’t have to be realistic with their demands, they’ve got an endless queue of guys behind you who’ll do the same job just as well – at least until word gets out that this place is a madhouse, which is really saying something around here.”

            “I didn’t take this job to play things safe. I think I can handle a little pressure.”

            “Really? I don’t think you know what pressure is. You’re relatively safe right now, but the higher you go, the closer to the chopping block you get. Right now is not the time when you want your superiors knowing your name, get it?”

            “That’s exactly what I want.”

            “You don’t get it. I should never have – I don’t get involved with people like this. You’re going to make me regret it, Rhys, if you don’t wise up. You’re in danger, ok? This isn’t a game, like finger-guns. This is like that with real guns, Rhys, and you don’t strike me like a guy with a high pain tolerance.”

            “You don’t know that,” he said, scoffing. “I have what it takes. I made it this far.”

            “Oh yeah, congratulations, you made it to code-monkey level. You don’t even _write_ the stuff, you just sit there and troubleshoot all day long. You know there’s robots that can do your job, right? They just pay you guys such shit it’s actually cheaper to hire real people than to maintain machines.”

            “I think she might have a point, Rhys,” said Vaughn.

            Yvette rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

            Rhys looked at Vaughn, wounded and surprised. “What are you talking about? This was the whole point, man.”

            “Just – she’s been working here longer, bro. She knows what’s what. She’s not in your department, it’s not like she wants the position for herself – she’s got no motivation to say this other than that she really is watching your back. That’s rare around here from what I’ve seen so far. Nobody else has given us the time of day, let alone been honest with us. I don’t think we should just ignore that. Besides…don’t you want to write code? Data-mining is a different section of your department.”

            “I can data-mine. I can mine that data like you wouldn’t believe. What’s the point if we aren’t pushing ourselves? I didn’t come here to just be a nobody.”

            “That’s the best thing any of us can be right now,” said Yvette. “Get some god damn perspective, will you? Ambition is nothing if you haven’t got the foresight to back it up and keep you from getting yourself killed in your first year. Do you get that? That this isn’t about your fragile ego right now, this is life and death? You’ll be nobody forever if you’re dead.”

            “Why did you even get involved with us if you don’t have any faith in us at all?” Rhys said.

            Yvette laughed. She was only a few years older than them, but sometimes she could sound jaded by many lifetimes. “Maybe that’s exactly why. Stick around a little longer and you’ll see. You don’t get to have friends up here, got that? You two think you’re buddies? Give it another couple months. People up here are blood-thirsty and they’ll sell you out the minute it earns them a buck. Either to save their own skin, or out of greed, or just plain old sadism. That’s how fucked-up this place can get you. You two aren’t like that yet. Oh, you want to be – but you don’t really know what it means, you’re only playing at being heartless. Or so I think. If you had any standing around here at all I wouldn’t have said any of this shit to you – as it is, I’m basically untouchable to you, so even if you turn out to be backstabbers, good luck getting at me. I’ll fucking bury you.”

            “That won’t be necessary, we aren’t, uh, going to double cross you or anything,” said Vaughn. “Maybe that can be our edge? Having an alliance, I mean. If nobody else up here is looking out for anyone but themselves, well…I don’t know.”

            “You two focus on living through the month, then we’ll see,” she said. “I don’t get attached this early on. It’s bad for your health, getting to know the newbies.” She winced, some pain or indecision flickering on her face. Then it was gone, smoothed back out. “Anyway. You’ll stay put if you’ve got any sense at all. The long game is all about knowing when to stay still, thinking ahead, future planning. And the long game is the only one there is.”

            “Thinking ahead is not really Rhys’ thing,” said Vaughn.

            “Hey. That’s why I have you two.”

            “Uh-huh. We’ll see how that goes for you,” Yvette said. “I’ve gotta get going. R&D’s cooking up something sinister and a little birdy’s about to tell me all about it.”

            “What’s R&D?” Rhys said.

            “God damn. Somebody help the kid,” Yvette said, standing up and walking away.

            “Research and development,” said Vaughn.

            “Whatever. She thinks she knows everything.”

            “She knows more than we do.”

            “But not everything. I’m good at my job.”

            “Yes,” said Vaughn, automatically. “You’re good at your job.”

            “And so are you. Very good, actually. If only somebody in accounting would get ‘terminated,’ you’d get the job no sweat.”

            A little shudder went through Vaughn, and Rhys immediately regretted saying it. “Let’s not – don’t start talking like that.”

            “I was just kidding.”

            “I know.”

            “I didn’t really mean I want somebody to, like, die.”

            “I know you don’t.”

            “We used to talk like that all the time, it didn’t bother you then.”

            “Yeah. But now it’s – right there. And Yvette’s right. The people around here…I don’t know if I really want to start sounding like them. Not exactly, anyway. I mean, mostly they’re good.”

            “Yeah, mostly.”

            “It’s just certain things.”

            “I know what you mean.”

            They left it at that, without saying too much that it couldn’t be denied later.

 

            Standing inside Henderson’s office was an experience bordering on religious awe. Senior Vice President of the Hyperion Securities Propaganda…whatever that meant. The longer the title the more impressive it was, probably. Now there was guy who’d made it. And not only was he a success, but based on office gossip, Rhys had surmised he was one of the favorite presidents in the department. He had the lowest rate of people ‘falling’ out of air-locks, for one thing. That was the main thing.

            “Thank you for seeing me, sir,” said Rhys, trying not to ogle the room too obviously.

            “I assume this is about the position.”

            “How’d you know?”

            “What else would it possible be? You’ve not been here a full year. There are more senior employees, more experienced. Why should you be considered?”

            Rhys grinned and opened his mouth, ready to give his pre-rehearsed response. Henderson held up a hand and stopped him. “Stop. You didn’t think. I don’t want to hear what you said in your first interview. I don’t want to hear about your college courses or your grades, I don’t want to hear about your internships or how you’ve been coding since you were in diapers. You think every other guy out there can’t say the same thing? If you can’t tell me what you alone bring to the position, what makes you think you deserve it over everyone else, you’re wasting my time. And your own time. And nobody who wastes his own time gets promoted.”

            Rhys opened and closed his mouth. After a beat he said, “I just need a chance to prove I could do it. Whatever it takes.”

            “Why?”

            “Why, sir?”

            “Why this job?”

            Rhys was dumbfounded. “I – the same reason everyone’s here, I guess.”

            “That doesn’t mean anything. That’s verbal garbage. Say something with substance.”

            “Just because – because I have goals.”

            “You could have different goals. Why this job?”

            “Because it’s Hyperion. Because Hyperion is – it’s everything I want to be. I am good enough to do the job, sir. I just need someone to give me a chance, and then I’ll prove I can—”

            “You keep saying that – that you’ll prove it. If you were sure of yourself, you wouldn’t feel a need to prove it. You’d just own it. Who are you trying to please?”

            Who was he trying to please? To his horror Rhys suddenly felt heat behind his eyes. “I don’t – that’s not why. I don’t mean prove it, I just mean – if you give me the job, I’ll show you it wasn’t a mistake, I’ll do it well, I’ll make you prou—”

            He cut himself off and felt his face flush, the heat spreading all the way to his ears and down his chest. Henderson smirked. There wasn’t much humor in the expression – he looked tired, distant.

            “You’ll make me proud of you? Is that what you were going to say?”

            “No, I mean – that’s not what I meant to say.”

            “Let me cut to the chase. You’re ambitious, anyone can see that. Well, so’s everybody else out there. You put in overtime – most of them do, too. You’ve got drive, but you’re no stand-out. You do well enough, you’re fairly competent. But you aren’t overfilling quotas. You aren’t going to wow anyone, Rhys. You’re ok.”

            “Oh,” said Rhys, as his legs went numb. There was no chair to sink into or wall to lean against so he just prayed he would stay upright or else drop dead.

            “Let me ask you something. Why coding? You’re fine at coding, don’t get me wrong. You know your fundamentals, you’re solid. It’s just a tough department to get ahead in.”

            _Because Jack was in coding_ , he thought. “Because I like it,” he said, his own voice sounding faint and far away. “It’s rewarding. You make something out of nothing”

            “Well, it’s not going to reward you career-wise. Listen. It’s still the early days for you. If you switch tracks now, maybe in a few decades, if you last that long, everyone will forget you’re a coding dropout and you’ll live down the shame. Why not marketing? You don’t have to think of it as a downgrade, necessarily. Just a reallocation of your assets. You’ve got a certain flair. You’ve got personality. They don’t need that in coding – in fact, it’s a big hindrance. But over there? You’ll fit right in. I’ll be honest, Rhys. I’ve got your file, and it doesn’t scream leadership material. I’m surprised they didn’t try and streamline you into the softer departments from the get-go. You think I like being the bearer of bad news? It kills me how they waste my time and the employee’s time, sending me all these ill-fitting new guys who think they’re the next Handsome Jack. I suggest you really take all this to heart, Rhys. It’ll probably be the last time anybody levels with you like this. Don’t fuck it up. Don’t expect anybody to ever be honest with you like this again, unless it’s too late for you to do anything about it. Think about what I’ve said.”

            Rhys swallowed. His mouth was dry. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “But I don’t think I can change.”

            A strange, unnerving smile spread across Henderson’s face. “Goodnight, Rhys,” he said.

            “Goodnight, sir.”

 

            Rhys met Vaughn and Yvette at their usual Friday night spot, a cheap bar where they ate baskets of chips and Vaughn drank liquor on the rocks while Rhys and Yvette sipped violently fluorescent mixed drinks out of fishbowl-sized martini glasses. Yvette had already made inroads into the enormous drink by the time he showed up and slumped into the booth.

            “Jesus,” she said. “You look awful. You look like, like somebody just beat a puppy in front of you. Hurry up and have some of this. Jesus Christ.”

            “What happened man?” Vaughn asked, face and voice full of such genuine concern it brought back the burning sensation behind Rhys’ eyes and the back of his throat.

            “Um – nothing, really.”

            “Something did all right. And you put in overtime again. They don’t even pay you poor suckers for that. Rhys, did you ever consider marketing?”

            Rhys made a sound that was half whimper and half moan. He grabbed the straw Yvette wasn’t sucking on and took a long sip. It tasted like liquid berries that’d been soaking in sugar for a few years.

            “I’m not going to work in fucking marketing.”

            “Jesus. What the hell’s wrong with marketing? You could have friends in marketing, they wouldn’t look at you like you’d grown a second head when you tried to gossip with them. I’ve seen you try and get friendly with those coding dweebs. In marketing you could bond over your horrendous fashion decisions that just scream please notice me! Seriously, Rhys. There’s nothing that says insecurity like a guy who tucks his tie into his pants.”

            “Yvette. For once, please, please let me be. I can’t take it right now. I’ll even buy you lunch if you just – be nice.”

            “Gross, don’t beg. It’s awful.”

            “Rhys, really, man, what’s up?”

            “It’s – well. Well, I talked to Henderson.”

            Yvette gasped. “Tell me you didn’t.”

            “Don’t _gasp_.”

            “Rhys.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Say you didn’t.”

            “Ok, I didn’t.”

            “What’d he say?” asked Vaughn.

            “Well. Various things, really. Some were – some could be, if you look at them a certain way, not totally bad. Um. What exactly is in these files they’ve got on us?”

            “Oh, man. He mentioned your file?” said Yvette.

            Rhys leaned forward, staring at her with open desperation. “What’s in the files, Yvette?”

            “What’s not in the files? It’s who you are and who you will be. It’s the aggregate of all your interviews, the results of all those tests you had to take before you got here, all the data that is your whole life before and after you worked for Hyperion. It’s a big psychological profile, basically. It’s everything that makes up your personality. They can predict all kinds of things with it. The policies say they don’t, but a lot of your career is pre-determined by the file and your test results. It’s hard to break away from what the file says. You’re the wannabe data-mining guy – it’s got to do with that somehow.”

            “But – but that isn’t fair. That has nothing to do with how hard you work at your job or how good you do at it!”

            Yvette laughed. “Oh, Rhys. You really don’t listen. Nobody gives a shit how hard you work.”

            “But those tests were totally bullshit! They were – they were like, scenario questions! They weren’t even relevant to the job.”

            “They were far, far more relevant than any coding quiz would’ve been. Temperament is everything. For instance. My file has me down as methodical, detail-oriented, cordial but not personable, potentially coming off as…it says either aloof or detached. I don’t remember.”

            “That seems accurate,” says Vaughn. “How do you know what it says though? Where do we see our files?”

            “Oh. You don’t.”

            “Yvette. I need to see that file,” said Rhys.

            “You really don’t want to, trust me.”

            Rhys paled. “You have it.”

            “I didn’t say that.”

            “Yvette. Where is it?”

            “It’s not a physical file, you dingus. It’s in the – the ether,” she said, waving one hand in the air.

            “I love it when she’s tipsy,” Vaughn said.

            “If I don’t see that file, I’m going to lose my mind, Yvette. You don’t understand. I _have_ to see it.”

            “It’s – you can’t change it. It’s not fun, seeing your file. I almost wish I hadn’t gone snooping for mine. It’s right in all the wrong ways. Like, sure, a lot of what it says rings true – but I don’t think it’s necessarily good for you, to see that. It can make you feel like these things are set in stone, like you’re doomed to be that person in the file, or something. Which Hyperion obviously thinks so. But I like to believe people can change. It’s one of my few perversions, I know.”

            “Why have you seen my file?”

            “I do my research on who I spend my time with.”

            “How?”

            “I’m in acquisitions, Rhys. I acquire.”

            “Please, Yvette. Please.”

            “Henderson really did a number on you, huh,” she said. “Get it together.”

            “You’re so smug. You think you’re so much smarter than me.”

            “Well, should I not?”

            “You’re so cold. No wonder we’re your only friends, everybody else knew better. You act like you’re the one doing us a favor, but I think it’s the other way around.”

            Yvette’s gaze sharpened, all the cheer leaving her face. The flush of alcohol remained, which made her look hurt, younger, vulnerable. He’d never have been able to rile her up so easily otherwise, but he wasn’t above taking advantage of an opportunity. “You know what, Rhys? You’re right. It’s such a goddamn favor that you grace me with your presence. I love nothing more than to spend time with someone whose file has them labeled as a goddamn ‘disordered personality.’ Somebody who is, according to one interviewer, ‘the human equivalent of a pasta strainer – no matter how much somebody gives, it goes pouring right out.’ You’re a leech. You attach yourself to people because you can’t bear to be alone, and that’s because you can’t stand yourself. To hide the fact that you’re empty inside, you create a bunch of personas in order to get superficial social acceptance – which is the only kind you can get, because you aren’t even a real person, you just say whatever you think other people whose approval you’re after want to hear. You have no self-worth so you’re going to spend your whole life here licking boots and kissing ass to get whatever crumbs of attention fall off the table for you to eat up. And all the while you’ll be laboring under the delusion that tomorrow is the day you’ll finally catch a break – then the next day, and the next day, until you die or get terminated. How’s that for a favor, Rhys? Are you happy now?”

            Rhys swallowed several times past the dryness of his mouth. He felt light-headed. “What else did it say?”

            “Jesus Christ. Yeah, it also said since you’ve got no sense of self, you’d take what other people tell you that you are to heart, which is…which is exactly why I wasn’t going to tell you any of that. Shit.”

            “Now you’ve done it,” Vaughn muttered.

            “I’m sorry, Rhys. I got a little carried away. You struck a nerve, ok? You’re good at that, you knew exactly what you were doing. Still. I shouldn’t have said all that.”  
            “No. No, I wanted you to tell me. I wanted to hear it. If that’s what it says, that’s what it says.”

            “That’s not what it said, she just got mad,” said Vaughn.

            “Well, it pretty much said that,” said Yvette. After Vaughn shot her an exasperated look, she said, “But! But, it also said you’re a dedicated worker! It said you’re extremely loyal to those you consider friends! You’re friendly, you – you trust easily, and – well, that’s not traditionally a _good_ thing here, but it means you come off as open and agreeable. It said you’re a clever problem solver, you’re – you have a capacity for compassion, which is also not highly prized around here, but you never know what might come in handy! And you’re creative! That’s great! _Especially_ in marketing.”

            “I don’t understand,” said Vaughn, “how you manage to make even compliments sound backhanded.”

            “I don’t mean to. That’s in my file, as well. Unnecessarily condescending. See, that’s why we’re a team, right? Right, Rhys? I’m mean, you’re – well, you have social awareness, you have the ability to schmooze, which means you at least can act nice. And Vaughn – well, yours actually scared me a little, Vaughn, you’re the kind of guy who, like, if he loses his ‘rock,’ his moral compass, the thing that matters to him or whatever, he could potentially be pretty fucking ruthless, but, you know, again! It all balances out, because you’re extremely protective of your friends and you’re definitely the most stable out of us, and nurturing. Very nurturing. But yeah, it’s true what they say I guess, beware the quiet ones.”

            “This has been most informative,” said Rhys, standing. “Good seeing you both.”

            “Hang on, don’t leave,” Vaughn said.

            “Too late,” said Yvette. “Too bad. According to his file, he’s now probably about to engage in impulsive and risky behaviors that might be construed as self-destructive.”

            “I don’t need a file to tell me that,” Vaughn muttered, pushing her so she would get out of the booth and release him. “Thanks a fucking bunch, yeah? Some friend you are.”

            “I warned you, and you didn’t listen. Especially him. I wasted my time, I started to care – and he threw that away like it meant fuck all. Well, I should take my own advice and stop caring.”

            “People aren’t machines, there’s no input output, just because you think they should act a certain way doesn’t mean they will. You have no idea – you have no god damn clue how hard he’s going to take what you just said.”

            “Good. He’ll need a thicker skin if he’s going to just waltz into his superior’s office asking for a promotion.”

            “Well, guess who gets to deal with what happens now, Yvette? He was doing so good – but you just get to be a wrecking ball, while for years I’ve been the one to – to make sure he doesn’t—”

            “You’re his friend, not his nanny. Jesus Christ, Vaughn. You two shouldn’t be that co-dependent.”

            “It’s not co-dependent. I wasn’t complaining. That’s what friends do. It just didn’t have to happen.”

            As he turned to go, Yvette grabbed him by the wrist. “Wait. Don’t hate me, Vaughn. You two don’t understand. I don’t – I can’t keep having friends die.”

            Vaughn pressed her hand with hers for a moment, nodded, and left to go after Rhys, who was standing outside gazing dazedly at a glowing billboard advertising the upgraded model of employee suites. Yellow light made his face look washed out and wan.

            “Hey, man. Let’s get home, ok? Whatever happened with Henderson, it’s not as big of a deal as it feels like right now. We’re still new at this, we have to expect there’ll be setbacks. We knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

            “That file is wrong about me. If they just give me a chance, I’ll show them it’s wrong.”

            “Forget the stupid file. You don’t need a file telling you who you are.”

            “Maybe I—”

            “Nope. I’m invoking best friend authority. You don’t need the file. Can we just go and play a video game or something like we used to? I have to be honest, importance of networking aside, I don’t think the whole clubbing scene is my thing.”

            Rhys, looking relieved, nodded and the two left for their cramped apartment.

 

            The following day Henderson called Rhys into his office before the work day usually started. He barely made it on time, a mix of anticipation and dread egging him on.

            “Congratulations, Rhys,” he said. “You’ve got the position.”

            Rhys blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

            “The position is yours. You can go ahead and move to the data-mining offices. You’ll be doing the more menial tasks, of course, until you learn the ropes. If you last that long, I think you might actually find that this was the departmental niche you were supposed to be in all along.”

            “I – thank you, sir. Thank you so much, I—”

            “Don’t thank me, Rhys. Just prove me wrong.”

            His new workspace was much the same as the first, albeit a little bigger and with partitions so he wasn’t totally exposed. He looked around. Everyone was intent upon their screens or else on calls or conferences in the noise cancelling booths. A tall, broad-shouldered man left one of the booths, making no attempt to quiet his deep laughter.

            “All right, you bastard. Sounds good. I’ll be in touch – I’ve gotta deal with something,” he said, making eye contact with Rhys and smirking.

            He ended his call and strode over.

            “Hello, I’m—”

            “And here’s the new office foot stool, everybody. Fresh on up from the dungeon. Say hello to…is it rice, or reeze?”

            “Um. Rhys.”

            A few people mumbled hellos without looking up. The man leaned against a cubicle. “How many cocks you suck to get up here, Rhys?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Ha! I’m just kidding,” he said. Then he leaned forward and did at last lower his voice. “But you’d better stop smiling at everybody like that if you don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

            “Smiling like – like what?”

            “Like a single chick at a bar. An ugly single chick. I’m Hugo Vasquez, by the way. Your floor shift supervisor. That means you answer to me while you’re here, however long…or short that might be.”

            It was hate at first sight for the both of them, but even that was better than indifference.

 

            Rhys practically ran for the cafeteria when it was time for lunch, but Yvette and Vaughn were still already seated at their usual table. He stood panting beside them, wide-eyed, waiting to catch his breath before he could speak.

            “All right, let’s all drop what we’re doing to guess what Rhys is trying to say,” Yvette said.

            “I – got the promotion.”

            “What? Seriously?” said Vaughn. “That’s fantastic, man!” He held up his palm and Rhys sat down and gave him a high five.

            “It was crazy – and now there’s this total dickbag Vasquez already on my case, and it’s like – it’s like another world, it’s so fast-paced, it’s great, I feel like, I don’t know, electrified. I think I really _like_ it. Like, _more_ than coding. And I think…I think I’m better at it than I was at that.”

            “And so it begins,” said Yvette. “What did Henderson say when he gave it to you?”

            “He said, uh…prove me wrong?”

            Yvette pursed her lips. She looked upset. “Oh, this place has done a number on him. Henderson was an all right guy, or so I’ve heard, a few years ago. But you don’t last long around here if you’re decent.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Prove me wrong – that’s a challenge, Rhys.”

            “So? I like a challenge.”

            “It’s one you’ll never, ever be able to win.”

            “Whatever, Yvette. I already know what you think of me.”

            “Look, about what I said on Friday, Rhys. I was trying to hurt you, I didn’t mean it. You ticked me off, ok? But now I’m just worried about you. The guys at Henderson’s level, they play these sick little games. If they weren’t sadists when they got here, they are by the time they get that high up. Now you’ve gotten yourself involved. I don’t say you can’t win because I don’t have faith in you – it’s just that they’ll never let you. It’s rigged from the start.”

            “I think you’re just jealous.”

            Yvette laughed. “If that makes you feel better, go ahead.”

            “I thought you were trying to help me. This isn’t helpful, it’s just – you’re a pessimist.”

            “Uh-huh. And you’re the sucker who took those power of positive thinking workshops to heart.”            

            “What’s the next step? How do we get Henderson to get bored of him and just let him do his job?”

            “You don’t _make_ Henderson do anything. He has all the power. Do you guys not get that yet? This station is one big hierarchy. If the people above you say jump, you fucking jump. This is a challenge you just can’t beat.”

            “Not me,” said Rhys. “I don’t care why he gave me the job. It’s mine and I’m going to do great at it and then one day I’ll be bossing Henderson around.”

            “I remember when I had dreams,” said Yvette.

            “You do?” asked Vaughn.

            “No,” she said.

 

            Yvette was right: this was a challenge he just couldn’t beat. Two weeks on the job and Rhys was already spiraling. Every day he stayed hours past the end of his shift just to barely keep up with the day’s demands, and even still he ended up behind. At home he hardly slept. He’d manage a couple of hours before waking in a cold sweat and getting to work on his tablet. He couldn’t relax, his entire body was tense. When he closed his eyes, he saw strings of glowing numbers. Not to mention Vasquez’s constant heckling.

            When he showed up for their scheduled Friday night drinks, he was seeing double and dragging his feet.

            “Sorry I’m late,” he said, sitting opposite the two of them and putting his face in his hands. “I fucked up – I’m doing, like, fifty things at once, I mixed up the projects, I did the wrong thing, it took hours fixing my own mistake. I think they’re giving me more than I can possibly do on purpose.”

            “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” said Vaughn. “I’m surprised you’re even functioning. You’re never around anymore, man. And when you are, you’re either passed out or working or, like – so stressed you can’t even talk.”  
            Rhys looked up. The two of them were staring at him somberly. “I’m sorry. I just – why are you looking at me like that? Is this an intervention?”

            “Well, it was supposed to be a belated celebration, considering you skipped last week, and the week before that wasn’t exactly cheery.”

            “What’re we celebrating?”

            “Nothing, she’s kidding,” said Vaughn.

            “Vaughn’s promotion, and more importantly, his huge raise.”

            “What? You got a – two weeks ago?”

            “Almost three, actually,” said Yvette.

            “It’s not a big deal,” said Vaughn.

            Rhys leaned back, flushed in the face. “But…but that’s so long ago. You didn’t say anything.”

            “It’s really not that big of a deal,” Vaughn said.

            “Yeah. No big deal that his manager said he’s sharper than any of the idiots heading his department. No big deal to get bumped up three pay scales and clearance levels before your first year is even over. No big deal,” said Yvette. “This? This is why you scare me.”

            “You told Yvette but not me?”

            “It just – there hasn’t been a good time.”

            “What do you mean, good time? When is a bad time to tell me such good news?”

            “When you’re…you know. Stressed with work. Not feeling your best.”

            “Bro. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much and all, but did you really think I’d be anything other than just, like, happy for you?”

            Vaughn winced. “I don’t know, I just…I’m sorry.”

            “You haven’t exactly been the most present lately,” said Yvette. “He thought you’d be jealous. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

            “That’s not what I thought,” Vaughn said, frowning at her.

            “Jealous?” said Rhys, his voice cracking. “How could I be jealous of you? What’s good news for you is good news for me, man. I’m just like, proud of you. I wish you’d wanted to tell me as soon as it happened. Am I like…did I do something to make you think I’d be jealous?”

            Vaughn scratched behind his ear, a nervous tic. He looked uncomfortable. “Not…jealous, exactly? It’s nothing against you, man. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, it just seemed like telling you might stress you out even more.”

            “How?”

            “It’s like…remember in Anderson’s class, when I did better on the midterm than you?”

            “…Yeah.”

            “And then for the rest of the semester you kind of stopped studying with me for it, and spending less time around me in general? I’m not bringing this up ‘cause I’m mad about it or something, I’m not, I was just worried you’d get distant like that again.”

            “But – Vaughn, holy shit. I didn’t do that because I was jealous. It was just that I was – I didn’t want to be the guy holding you back, you know? ‘Cause if I studied with you, you’d have to spend time helping me, and I didn’t want you to think I was stupid, so I wasn’t avoiding you, I was like, trying to do better on my own, so you wouldn’t think I was…I don’t know. Deadweight.”

            “Bro. I’ve never thought you were stupid. You should’ve just said. It helped me study when I explained things to you, because that’s when I really got it. And see, this is what I meant, I thought it might be something like that, so with this new job and all – I just didn’t want you putting that pressure on yourself.”

            “But that’s not fair. That’s my problem. I don’t want that to keep you from thinking you can tell me stuff.”

            “I’ll try and not do it again if you try and stop thinking you have to like, impress me or whatever weird shit you think.”

            “Deal,” said Rhys, bumping his fist against Vaughn’s.

            “Wow. Hey, congrats to me too, for not vomiting. Who knew sliding a few ‘bros’ in there could make a heart to heart so manly?”

            “I don’t ascribe to toxic masculinity,” said Vaughn.

            “Oh yeah? What’s Rhys’ excuse?”

            “He does his best to ascribe, but it’s just for show.”

            That was one of the last good nights for a while, when the three of them were together without secrets or plots or stains on their consciences.

 

            Saturday night found Rhys hunched over his tablet, already a few shots into the cotton-candy vodka Yvette had bought as a gag. Working drunk wasn’t his best idea ever, sure, but at least he was uninhibited enough now not to feel like his chest was caving in. He had a deadline coming up in an hour. Vasquez was compiling a rap sheet against him and this could be the final nail in the coffin. He hadn’t told Yvette and Vaughn how dire things were getting – no need to worry them. No need to admit that so far this had been one big failure that was going to cost him his job. Or more.

            His tablet pinged. A message from Henderson. It said, How’s that project coming along?

            Rhys replied, I’m finishing it up right now. It will be on time.

            Henderson said, That’ll be the fourth missed deadline this week.

            Rhys felt his stomach lurch. Henderson was still typing. The next message was just an address…for one of the more upscale clubs, where the senior management hung out and everybody trying to schmooze their way to the top as well. Rhys might have been on that scene, if work hadn’t been killing him.

            Had Henderson sent that to the wrong person? Was his boss drunk messaging him? Rhys replied, Sir?

            Henderson messaged back, Don’t worry about the deadline. You can make it up to me.

            Rhys’ heart was hammering. Deep down he knew something wasn’t right, but on the surface he just felt immense relief. He could still fix this. Henderson must have known all along that the workload was impossible, but he’d seen Rhys try to tackle it anyway, and now he was going to be rewarded – his talents would be recognized, Henderson would introduce him to all the right people, this would be his breakthrough. He could hear the praise now. He had passed the trials and earned his place in the data-mining crew.

            Rhys had never gotten dressed and ready to go out so fast in his entire life.

 

            He found Henderson sitting at the bar talking to another man who Rhys didn’t recognize. When he saw Rhys, he and the man exchanged goodbyes and what seemed like a knowing grin and nod.

            “Good call, Rhys,” said Henderson. His smile was almost warm. God, he felt a little giddy. Longing surged up inside of him in a great black wave. The depth of his own need for that smile and everything it meant – the approval, the paternal pride – frightened him.

            Henderson took the shot sitting in front of him. “Have a seat, have a drink. Tell me what’s going on with these missed deadlines.”

            “I just – I’m still adjusting to the workload. I’m getting better.”

            “That’s not what I see, Rhys. I see you getting further and further behind. Seriously, have a drink. You want a beer? Are you a beer guy?”

            “Um. Beer is fine.”

            “Ok, not a beer guy.” Henderson snapped his fingers and ordered a martini. “You’ll like this.”

            The drink was bright orange with a yellow umbrella stuck in it. Rhys felt his face heat up. He couldn’t look away from it at Henderson.

            “I’ll do better,” he said.

            “No, you won’t. You’re at the end of your rope. I can see when a guy’s about to crack, and you are.”

            “It’s just – sir, I honestly don’t see how anybody could meet these deadlines.”

            Henderson’s smile turned cold and condescending. “I’m sure you don’t. It takes somebody exceptional. I can tell who that is within days. Hours. I knew it wasn’t you before you even came into my office. Some guys are destined for mediocrity. But it doesn’t have to be that way. There are ways to compensate for otherwise being a disappointment. Have a drink, Rhys. Really.”

            Rhys drank while Henderson held his gaze. It somehow felt like another test, a mind game. He didn’t want to stop drinking until Henderson blinked or looked away. It was a good fifteen seconds before Henderson cracked a smile and nodded. “Good boy,” he said. “Now there’s only one thing you have to ask yourself, Rhys. What are you willing to do to get what you want? Are you a loser?”

            “No, sir.”

            Henderson leaned forward and put his hand above Rhys’ knee and squeezed. “I didn’t think so. Maybe you aren’t the best coder, but I knew when I saw you that you had drive. And guys with that kind of drive find a way. One way or another, doesn’t matter how you get there once you’re at the top. Sorry. I don’t like talking business during my personal time, but it’s impossible not to. It’s all business. Are you starting to understand that?”

            “Yes,” said Rhys. “I think I am.”

 

            When Rhys woke in the rented room there was a moment of disorientation as he looked at the unfamiliar room. Then he remembered and lay very still and felt nothing but a faint seeping sickness. How much did he remember? Not everything, but more than he wanted to. He’d drank much more than he normally would have, especially considering Vaughn or Yvette wasn’t there being the responsible one.

            Of course, if either of them had been there, he would be waking up in his own bed.

            Henderson was gone. There was no note or anything, no trace of him except for the lingering traces of his cologne. Rhys got out of the bed and put his clothes back on, doing his best not to feel anything about how they were dumped in a pile on the floor, not to think at all. The corridor was empty. He had never been in this part of the station before, the rentable rooms running adjacent to a strip of bars and clubs. He got into a lift and headed home, and he did not think and he did not feel and he tried not to know anything at all, even his own name.

            When he got back Vaughn was reading in the living area. “You didn’t say you were going out last night,” he said. “I messaged you a ton.”

            Rhys stared at him and Vaughn registered his disheveled appearance. “Ah. Everything all right?”

            “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

            “Ok. Well…I’m glad you had a good time. Maybe just let me know next time. You usually do.”

            “I’m sorry. I just forgot.”

            “It’s ok, man. There’s some leftover pizza if you want it.”

            Rhys resisted the impulse to hug Vaughn and go limp, relinquish control of his own body, which he felt so detached from. Instead he nodded. “You’re the best, bro.”

 

            On Monday as he was walking to his desk, Henderson stopped him by the employee break room, where Vasquez and his cronies where rehashing their weekend exploits over coffee.

            “Rhys,” said Henderson, smiling kindly, warmly, in a way he had not before, in a way that did not at all acknowledge how Rhys had missed his deadline by several days now. “You left this.”

            Rhys reached out and took his contact lens case from Henderson. Henderson who had left the room first. He had not left behind what wasn’t there for him to take. Along with the case there was a piece of paper. Rhys put both into his pocket. “Thank you,” he said.

            Henderson gave him a pat on the back. “Keep up the good work.” Then he returned to his office.

            When Rhys glanced over, Vasquez and the rest were silent and looking at him. He looked away and went to his desk where he opened the paper, which said, Consider past failures forgotten. If you feel yourself getting behind again, don’t hesitate to get help. Underneath that was an address, a time and date.

            Rhys spent a couple of minutes carefully folding the note into the smallest square he could, and then put it carefully into his breast pocket.

            He would not need it. He would prove them all wrong about him – Yvette, Vasquez, Henderson, the whole lot of them. He had made a mistake. One mistake. He wouldn’t make it again. And if it only happened once, he never even had to think of it again, until one day he forgot it, and then it would be as if it had never happened at all.

           

            He was behind again by the end of the day.

            “It’s closing time, Rhys,” said Vasquez. There was less malice in his voice somehow, as if he was taking a little less pleasure in Rhys’ suffering than usual. “Where’s that project?”

            Rhys just stared at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

            Vasquez snapped his fingers in Rhys’ face. “Hey. Go braindead elsewhere.”

            “I’m not finished yet.”

            “Oh, Rhys. What am I going to do with you? This isn’t a charity. We don’t carry deadweight.”

            “I get more tasks than anybody else. It’s not possible to do them all by their deadlines.”

            “I’m gonna go ahead and stop you right there. Am I hearing whining? You’re not gonna find any sympathy for that sob story around here, Rhys. No excuses – you can either keep up, or you can’t. Maybe it’s time for you to accept your limits and beg Henderson to demote you. Otherwise it’s just a matter of time until you’re on the chopping block. If I were you – which, ha, I’m clearly not – I’d take the demotion while I still could.”

            “I’m sure you would. You wouldn’t even be able to do half of what I do. And you know what they say – those who can’t do, supervise.”

            “That’s cute, you giving me lip right now. Considering how I could ruin your career, your whole life, just because I feel like it. And you know what? I’m feeling it.”

            “Just try.”

            “Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s been nice knowing you. You’ve got a little something right here,” Vasquez said, touching his own neck.

            Rhys covered the hickey – the _bruise_ – with one hand. He’d covered it as best he could with concealer and worn a jacket with a collar that covered it, but he’d taken that off and forgotten about it.

            Vazquez shut the lights off on the floor before Rhys had finished gathering his belongings.

 

            The next day Brannigan was terminated via ejection through safety hatch for consistently underfilling quotas and attempting to hide it by doctoring his charts…and the rumor that he’d been working on a side plot to oust Henderson probably hadn’t helped. Now there was room for someone to fill that position, and things were tense. Quarterly bonuses came out in under a month. They were the best predictor of what promotions the next year might hold – or what demotions. Rhys’ bonus could damn or save him. It floated in his future, heavy with prophetic significance.

            He wanted to be part of this department. He did not want to go back to the coding dungeon. He was just starting to get the hang of what he was doing, and if only whoever was punishing him with this impossible workload would let up, he was sure he might really love what he did. He was sure he might even be great at it.

            What kind of person was he?

            He didn’t know anymore. But he couldn’t bear failure. He wanted to live.

            He unfolded the paper Henderson had slipped him. If he got drunk enough but not too drunk, he could pretend it was like any other fling.

            Yeah, right.

            Well, had he thought it would be easy? Was he about to give up at the first sign of trouble? Was he that soft? Why shouldn’t he get a nice big bonus, one he could brag about to Vaughn and Yvette, one that would fix everything? Maybe then he would feel like himself again. He would have made it. These were the dark times, maybe, but the only mistake would be to give up before he got through them to the other side, where there was – he didn’t know yet. But he was sure it would be glorious.


End file.
